Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

EPISODE IV - The Hunt Begins

Location: 30,000 feet in the sky…

“Bonsoir gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, I would like to take this moment to inform you that we are two minutes from arrival," came the voice over the intercom.

Henrí Donoma smiled as he swirled the sweet taste of this particular red wine around his taste buds before swallowing. He stared out the small window of the private jet Alesky had secured as the carpet of lights below grew closer with each passing second. As was his custom, he sat clad in another immaculate suit; this one mossy green in a colour that offset the bronze of his skin in fine fashion.

He wore no jewelry, save for the gold link of the watch hanging from his pocket, his jet black fedora set aside near the now empty plate of complimentary food the airline had provided. His body hummed with more energy than he could remember over the past fifty years. Two down, five more to go before I’m done with securing the battle guard, he thought to himself. The light at the end of the tunnel was slowly coming into focus.

The plane bumped as it made its first contact with the tarmac before smoothing out and taxiing over to the private hangar. The stewardess came to relieve him of the empty plate and accompanying glass of wine with a small smile,

"Thank you for flying with Virgin sir, we hope to see you again."

"Merci, my dear," Henrí responded, fixing the fedora atop his head before coming to his feet.

The door near the front of the cabin opened to allow the chill of the night into the confined space. Pausing at the top of the stairs to exit the plane, Henrí inhaled deeply before exhaling in pleasure. France was always nice this time of year...

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Later that evening, Henrí pressed the plush fibers of the towel against his face. Over his shoulder, the vapors from the shower slowly dissipated just as quickly as the beads upon his back were returning to their gaseous state; the towel used only as formality. Wiping his palm against the glass hanging above the sink, Henrí gave a ghost of a smile to the face that stared back at him. The cheekbones had filled out, his hair now looking thicker. This was only the beginning; he reminded himself, looking at the lean muscle that slowly began to return to his frame. Such a significant change that came from simply guiding the Mattend brothers to the Gates, he mused.

He did not miss the place of him and his Fallen brethren's damnation, not in the slightest. However, there was certainly a noticeable return of the most basic of powers to his form. Turning away from his reflection, he looked over his shoulder before leaving the hotel bathroom to stare at the two scars that ran diagonally down his back. As if sensing the weight of his stare, the scars glowed red before fading as if they had never been.

Closing the door behind him, Henrí strode over to the bed where a fresh change of clothes awaited. Making quick work of the underwear, he flexed his fists before rolling his shoulders, the feel of power humming through his body whispering to him to return for more. Not yet, he counselled himself, the others must first be found.

"Alesky!" Henrí called to the man standing at the other side of the door.

"Sire," Alesky's thick Russian accent as he entered the room.

"Have you eaten?" Henrí scanned the other man for any signs of weakness or fatigue, pleased to see him fully recovered from their angelic ambush.

Alesky nodded in response, eyes scanning the room.

"Very well, time for us to hunt. We need to seek out any strange stories of deaths via food; suspected poisonings, assassinations or accidents."

"Any additional information?"

"No."

"Understood!" Henrí's aide replied before closing the door behind him.

In the meantime, Henrí would try to locate one of the most dangerous angels ever created.

After all, it was not every day the King of Hell pulled a disappearing act.

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Alesky pulled the brim of his cap lower before flipping the top of his grey hoodie atop his head, hunching slightly so as not to draw as much attention as his usual six feet, three inch frame would usually bring.

The memory of his mother’s shocked expression was still fresh in his mind as was the Russian that flowed from her lips when she used her hands to frame a beloved face she had thought to never see again.

He had been a slender six feet when he was robbed and attacked by the hoodlums near the housing projects in Plymouth, England – a memory that felt like a lifetime ago. Now? He lived on the middle plane that separated two factions of angels as they prepared for battle, acting as aide and chauffeur to a true immortal.

Slipping his hands into the folds of the hoodie, Alesky changed his gait, taking on the form of an average citizen returning from the gym. Beneath, walked a lethal, surefooted fighter who focused his mind on the task of picking up as much information as possible on people dying from food-related causes. First stop, a newspaper stand, he thought, then maybe a bar. Far better to listen to the word on the streets… Something was always being said.  

                    END OF EPISODE